Prior to boarding our Japan Airline flight from New York to Tokyo, Don and I took 2 sets of nasal PCR tests. Those are the kind where they stick a very long Qtip up your nose. Sometimes that feels like a little tickle, other times it feels like…well, you can imagine. Just so you’ll know…(you can skip this part if it is too vivid or boring) a “PCR” is a molecular COVID-19 test that detects the genetic material of the virus using a technique called polymerase chain reaction (PCR). A fluid sample is collected by inserting a long nasal swab (nasopharyngeal swab) into your nostril and taking fluid from the back of your nose. PCR tests are generally very accurate, but the antigen rapid test can miss some cases.
Don and I didn’t really care. We celebrated getting the right test at the right time. We went to one site where we drove up to an unmarked door, and a nurse covered in white protective gear - from head to toe - looking a bit like an alien, came over to my window and then plunged the long stick down my nose. Imagine, I gladly let her do that. Then it was Don’s turn. 30 minutes later the same alien came out and happily gave us the results of an antigen test. Negative! Unfortunately, the second test results of the required PCR test, didn’t get to us in time for boarding the plane. But, we knew, no test - no flight to Tokyo. The next day we went to an urgent care facility in Fishkill. They had no aliens at that facility. Just doctors and nurses wearing masks. They gave us results from a PCR in 45 minutes from an onsite lab. Also, Negative.
The real miracle was that a few weeks earlier we got a resident’s visa to live in Japan. Don called the Consulate in early May, “Hi. My wife and I have been recruited to work in Tokyo. Will we be able to get a visa?” The polite lady who answered the phone didn’t laugh at this request. After all, she is a polite Japanese lady. But there was a bit of an un-Japanese guffaw in her voice, “Oh, I very much doubt you will be able to get into the country in the near future. We are not giving out visas.” Hearing the disappointment in Don’s voice, she said, “Well, this decision is not up to me. Please send a copy of your papers in to us, and someone will look at them and see if a different decision can be made. But, please do not be discouraged.”
So we sent copies of letters and other stuff to a distant skyscraper in downtown New York. Four or five days later, “Mr. Fitzmahan, perhaps you and your wife would like to come into the Consulate and hand in your papers to apply for a visa,” said another polite Japanese lady. What??? Really??? On May 11th we took a 2 hour train into Grand Central Station. We had had our two Pfizer vaccines two months earlier.
Grand Central was nearly abandoned. Only one coffee shop was opened. Even Starbucks was closed. No Starbucks is a sign that we were suffering from a plague. All the table and chairs were turned upside down. No place to sit and enjoy that one cup of coffee available at the station. We walked out into the streets. New York City was beautiful! Sunny. A perfect temperature. The air was clean and smelled good. Clean streets. Flower boxes filled with red and yellow flowers lined the sidewalks. And no people. We walked down Park Avenue. Just the two of us. There were food trucks, though. Waiting. For New York.
The Century One skyscraper housed the Consulate. A uniformed guard took us up to the 18th floor. We were directed to an empty room and we took our application and documents up to a clerk sitting behind a double plastic window. “Yes. What can I do for you?”
So, apply we did. Did we did. I don’t know why I just turned into Yoda speech. It just came out. Yoda is my guru who reminds me, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
Three weeks later, Don’s cell rang. Don and I were driving back to Austin with my sister after a 5 day trip to West Texas. Through the speaker of the car, a friendly young man’s voice echoed, “Hello, is this Don Fitzmahan?” “Yes.” “I am from the New York Japanese Consulate.” Always friendly, Don asked, “What’s your name?” “Oh, we aren’t allowed to give you our names. I am Number 17. Which is fortunate, because my mother named me Number 17.” “Well, nice to meet you, Number 17. What can I do for you?” “Oh no, it is what I can do for you. We have your visa here waiting for you.” “Oh, you mean we got our visas?” “Yes, that is what I said.” “Does that mean we can go to Japan?” “Yup! Start packing your bags.”
Japan has closed its borders to nearly every foreigner trying to visit or work in the country. At the time, Japan made headlines because she set one of the strictest entry restrictions among developed countries. Now, every other country has closed its borders. Opened its borders. Closed its borders.
Gone are the days when an American tourist can come into Japan visa-free for 3 months. No tourists in Japan. I must admit I didn’t realize how many countries, 18 months into the Pandemic, still have closed borders. Last week, Canada just reopened its borders to American citizens. On our side, we haven’t opened our borders to Canadians. How ironic! I’d rather have a Canadian come and visit me, than many Americans. Polite, well mannered Canadians! And, more Canadians are vaccinated than we are in the United States.
We’re happy and mystified that the Japanese gave us a visa. Don’t really know why. A colleague of Erin’s, who lives in Osaka, didn’t believe that Erin’s parents were moving to Japan. “No way! It is not possible. They are mistaken. They aren’t letting anyone into Japan. Certainly, not foreigners. No way!” And my good friend, Miranda, a classmate from Sophia University in Tokyo, who has lived in Tokyo nearly her whole life, wrote, “Well, I am speechless, completely taken aback to know about this new chapter of your lives.”
